Chapter 6: A Big Mouth

Crane took a deep breath in, allowing the scent to fill his lungs. There was simply nothing quite like that old and musty smell. In all the universities, hospitals, and asylums he'd visited over the years, simply nothing could quite compete with the smell of an old public library – and especially a stack of old books. He smiled, flipping his thumb over the heavy, uneven pages; his mind jumping back to his younger years and the many nights he'd spent with a stack of psychology journals. How long ago that now seemed. He took a sip of his hazelnut coffee and shuddered a bit as it warmed him up from the inside. The building was always kept a little chilly, though Crane didn't mind. The cold kept him focused. He glanced out the tall windows that stretched up the side wall, looking up to the shadowy behemoths that made up Gotham's skyline. The rain was pouring down from the cloudy sky above, and with the small yellow lamp flicked on at his table, Crane decided it was the perfect day to be inside reading.

He took another sip of his coffee before diving into the books. Lycanthropy, werewolves, were-cats, were-hyenas – they were all listed and referenced and described in so much detail that he couldn't decide if the author was trying to deify them or describe the creatures. But there were some shreds of instruction listed here and there: items that could prevent a werewolf bite, locations that the creatures were prone to attacking, everything down to their mating rituals. He rolled his eyes and skipped ahead a few pages. Mating rituals weren't exactly what he was interested in, though he doubted he'd be strutting out into the woods to frolic with a she-wolf any time soon. It was moments like these that made him embarrassed to be reading this muck. Still, this was all he had to go on, so he had no choice.

With a stretch, he decided this was as good a time as any for a restroom break, and was pleased to find the facility quite empty. A quick look down each of the stalls told him he was indeed alone, so he took a moment to reapply the glue on his fake blonde beard and mustache. His long blonde dreads were still intact, and the brown contact lenses satisfactorily made him look nothing like Jonathan Crane, the escaped Arkham Asylum inmate. Black t-shirt, jeans – honestly not even Batman himself would recognize him in this getup. He smirked before heading back out to the tables.

The rain was truly lashing the windows now, and Crane smiled at the nervous glances a few of the customers made up at the sky. They were trying so hard to hide their anxiety. He ought to come by more often when the weather was bad. One man had his laptop up, staring at the red and yellow weather patterns moving in slow motion across a map of Gotham. Nearby an older woman whispered to a child that the storm wouldn't last very long. All in the blissful environment of the library – what a beautiful way to spend the day!

Unfortunately, Crane knew he had work to do and partaking of others' fears wasn't part of it. At least not today, he promised himself. He wandered back to his table, his brow furrowing when he noticed his books had vanished. Honestly, was the librarian that intent on shelving them? He searched around for a moment, looking for the cart where books to be shelved were typically stored. It was on the other side of the floor, and it didn't contain a single one of his werewolf books. Now he was starting to get agitated. If not the librarian, then who?

He returned to his desk, his gaze shifting over the surrounding tables until he spotted a book on top of a stack with a very familiar werewolf rendition. The silhouetted creature was howling to a completely disproportional moon behind him – very romanticized. And the man sitting at the table –

Crane paused. His heart was racing suddenly and for some reason he was certain he was being threatened. It was instinctive, like the growling of a cat before it pounced, or the rattling of a snake tail before the strike. He simply knew he was in danger. The man before him was extremely well built, but Crane had certainly never reacted to a bodybuilder like this. What was wrong with him?

The dark-haired man put down the book he was reading, turning his cold gaze onto him. Crane felt a chill move down his back, blinked, and looked away.

"You're scrawnier than I thought you'd be."

"Excuse me, sir," Crane continued, pretending not to have heard him. "It appears my books were misplaced. Sorry about that." He casually picked up the pile and placed them in the crook of his arm, but the man kept staring with a stupid smile on his face. "Is there something wrong?" The man stood his full height towering. A pit started to form in his belly, and Crane chastised himself mentally for such weakness.

"The name's Tony, Doc."

Crane narrowed his eyes slightly, the name Tony sounded terribly familiar with his face. Did this man really know him? He started wracking his brain trying to recall where he'd seen this guy before. "Mine's Luke, and I assure you I'm certainly not a doctor."

Tony shook his head, "Whatever you say, iLuke/i. Look, can we just find a place to talk for a few minutes? Then you can go back to your research without a problem."

Continuing his look of silent rage, he nodded. "Fine, let me check these out first."

"Sure thing," Tony nodded. Crane could feel his presence behind him as he headed to the reception desk, but his mind was still racing. The Asylum? No, he had the physique of a guard, and none of them had liked him much during his time there? The University then? Perhaps a former student? He shook his head as he slid the pile of books across to the long-haired woman across from him. It was pointless, he'd known far too many people, had more connections than seemed necessary now, and had a regrettably faulty mind for keeping track of his numerous acquaintances. But surely he would recall a man with such a powerful physique.

When he turned around again, of course Tony was behind him. This time he'd sported some thin rounded sunglasses for their trip outside. Crane rolled his eyes. It was pouring outside. Maybe the fellow was involved with the mob? He smiled to himself at that thought. After ruining precious library time, Crane was in the mood to see this idiot under fear toxin.

Hot and salty, the French fry was dripping with unhealthiness, but damn it tasted so good. It had been forever since Crane had been to a McDonald's, and since he was not terribly interested in being alone with his incredibly muscular acquaintance, he'd opted for a private spot out in the open. And besides, the smell of the fries was irresistible in the rain.

"So let me get this straight," Crane sipped on his Coca Cola; he thought it made him look a bit more pensive. "You're telling me there's nothing supernatural with your transformation at all?"

Tony nodded, chewing bits of his Big Mac and rarely taking his eyes off of him. It was getting to be quite a nuisance. "No, at least not that I know of. Milo was pretty secretive about how he got hold of it. Something about Timber Wolves."

Crane sighed for what felt like the tenth time this afternoon. And here he'd been afraid of this man. "Timber wolves, eh? Well that certainly makes it plausible."

Tony put his sandwich down for a moment. Probably for the first time since they'd sat down. "Yeah, I know it sounds pretty ridiculous…"

"No, my friend. I've heard ridiculous before. There's a big difference between that and crazy. I should know."

Tony turned his gaze down to his sandwich, but said nothing. Crane hoped that meant he'd prodded him properly. It was one of the few joys he was getting out of this whole conversation.

"Milo, Milo…" Crane muttered aloud as he stirred his drink. "Why does that name sound familiar…?"

"He said he used to be a chemist?"

Crane smiled, the slanderous newspaper headlines suddenly returning to him. That uppity research intern of Dr. Langstrom's that thought he deserved all the glory. And then they found out he was doing illegal experiments on humans. How humiliating that must have been, not to mention sloppy. Apparently, whatever punishment he did get wasn't enough to prevent him from messing with Tony and, indirectly, Crane himself.

He took a sip of his drink. "Professor Milo, wasn't it?"

"Did you know him? Were you familiar with his work?"

"No, I didn't know him, but I knew of him. He was all over the scientific journals when it happened. Didn't you see them?"

Tony's incredulous look said enough. And for some reason his expression brought back a colorful children's cereal commercial Crane hadn't seen for years. Big muscular athlete eating a bowl of potentially radioactive fluorescent cereal and kids running up to hug him. Or something like that, but yes, that shocked look was exactly the one he'd had in the commercial.

"Tony, is that short for Anthony perhaps?"

Tony had been eating with his head down, still chomping away at his food as though he hadn't eaten in weeks. But now his eyes focused on him again. "Vhy do thoo asqu?" he muffled around a wad of fries.

Crane leaned forward, reveling in the slight look of panic coming over the man. "Does it stand for Anthony… Romulus, perhaps?"

They locked eyes for a few moments, neither saying a word. It was like a stare down between dogs, and Crane knew he'd hit the jackpot. Unable to resist, he continued, "You were a wealthy athlete, weren't you? Ended up winning all those awards and trophies – what was it, two years ago?"

Crane noticed the slight catch of breath Romulus took. Oh, this was too easy!

"And I bet," Crane lounged back in his chair, putting his arms behind his head. "I bet all those honors weren't really your work at all – they were Milo's. You put your life in the hands of that wacko and thought you could pay him off?" He shook his head, "You're either an idiot or –"

Suddenly Crane couldn't breathe. Fingers were tight around his neck, just over his Adam's apple, and they were squeezing. Crane's eyes went wide and he scrambled to pull off the vice-like hand, but already he knew he wouldn't be able to.

"You know, I was going to do this the easy way, Doc. I really was."

One mustached man came over, reaching one hand up to pat Romulus' arm. "It's okay man, no need to get rough now."

Never moving his eyes away from Crane, Romulus placed his other hand on the man's chest and shoved with about as much force as you might use for closing a car door. The man on the other hand went flying to the front of the restaurant, skidding across the top of the cashier's counter and slamming into a wall of freshly prepared sandwiches. Then panic ensued.

Crane could hear the other patrons of the restaurant screaming and hurrying out the doors. Several McDonald's employees leapt over the countertop and ran out with them. A couple moved over to check on the man who'd tried to stop him, but gave Crane a look of apologetic ambivalence. He'd been written off as a lost cause. He couldn't really blame them though; he'd have been the first person out the door if he could. The pain was starting to be excruciating now, and he could feel his chest starting to convulse as his body attempted to pull in air.

"Que – still – kan –. " Talking this through with him was the only option Crane had left. Otherwise he'd be strangled to death in a McDonald's of all places. How degrading would that be? Batman would probably adore that headline. Put it up in his bedroom or something. As his vision started to get darker, Crane forced himself to stay focused.

Diplomacy wasn't good enough. If he wanted to survive this he had to use the only tool this man would listen to: fear. He pointed with both hands toward the main door of the restaurant. His head felt swollen as if it would burst if he didn't get loose soon.

"Ke Poleesse" he whispered.

Romulus looked around then, suddenly realizing that the room was not only empty but off in the distance there were indeed police sirens heading in their direction. Crane could only see his general movements now, his vision was getting far too dark as though the world were on a dimmer switch. With what sounded like a growl, Romulus finally released his grip, dropping him onto the cold tile. Crane didn't even have enough energy left in him to land on his hands and knees, instead slumping into a pile onto the floor, his face now a purple-blue. He choked in the air and felt his lungs ache with relief.

"Damn it, Doc." Romulus said from above, and then Crane was in the air again, but this time looking from behind as Romulus had draped him over his shoulder. He looked on in strange regret at the half container of fries he'd left on the table. And he probably wouldn't be able to come back to a McDonald's for a long time after this fiasco.

Why couldn't he keep his big mouth shut for once?